


turn the lights off, carry me home

by funkysnailanon



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series), Fantasy High
Genre: Autistic Riz Gukgak, Friendship/Love, Gen, Insecurity, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, not the focus nor outright mentioned but it's important to me that you know that he is, only not canon compliant in the sense that gorgug and zelda are just friends, takes place after sophomore year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24741559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkysnailanon/pseuds/funkysnailanon
Summary: And for the rest of the ride home, Riz thinks about love, and about Gorgug, and he thinks Gorgug could do anything — could tell Riz he’s given up music and raging and barbarian classes to work as Aguefort’s lunch lady instead, and Riz would still think the world of him.Or; Riz is the last person for Gorgug to drop off, and there’s twenty minutes before they get to Strongtower.
Relationships: Riz Gukgak & Gorgug Thistlespring, Riz Gukgak/Gorgug Thistlespring
Comments: 16
Kudos: 94





	turn the lights off, carry me home

There’s a tiredness wound around Riz’s bones, his eyelids drooping slightly as he leans his head against the window and traces shapes in the condensation. His lines bump up whenever the Hangvan rolls over a pothole, water dripping down his fingers as they slide over the glass. It’s early Autumn, past dusk, the night cold and sharp enough for goosebumps to prickle across his skin. The AC has been turned on, and it’s buzzing softly, slowly warming the inside of the van and dispelling the lingering scent of Kristen’s pumpkin spice latte.

It’s a quiet night, late enough for the streets to be mostly empty. Every third car they pass is a cab. The radio went silent a while ago, and the last person to be dropped off (Fabian) took the rest of the noise with him when he hopped out the van and shut the door. Now it’s just Riz in the passenger’s seat, Gorgug with his hands on the steering wheel next to him, and the hum of the van all around.

It’s a comfortable kind of quiet — restful, peaceful, however you want to put it. And Riz likes talking, likes speaking out his thoughts even if just to vocally illustrate whatever theory he’s trying to piece together, but after a whole day of hanging out with his friends, it’s nice to take a break. Forced conversations don’t tend to lead anywhere anyways, and talking without intent, without a focus or goal, has never been Riz’s strong suit. Gorgug gets that.

(Riz isn’t worried and he savours it, because it’s so rare for his nerves to feel so doped without alcohol or snuff powder or anything else that he’d rather never touch again.

He’s not worried about his friend feeling hurt, or thinking that Riz doesn't enjoy talking to him, or anything of that sort, because Gorgug knows. Because they’re close enough for Gorgug to just trust him enough not to come to such a conclusion, and… Riz clutches tight onto that. It feels indefinitely precious, to have someone trust you, to be able to _trust_ someone like that.)

There’s a lot of things that Gorgug just gets, for someone whose intelligence is constantly undermined. Riz doesn’t have an easy time articulating himself or making his thoughts anything more than borderline nonsense, especially when it comes to things that don’t have a straight A to B flow of logic. His tongue wraps itself in knots and hard consonants clog up in his throat, whatever point he was trying to make losing itself in his own overwhelming thoughts, but Gorgug always waits by his side and hears him out. No matter how incomprehensible his ramblings get. He just waits, and some things fly over his head but Gorgug always, _always_ keeps trying to understand, and that’s something Riz very much admires.

He likes talking to his friend, looks forward to telling Gorgug about whatever crazy shit happened during class that day, but there’s something about being together that makes the not talking just as good as the talking. Simply existing in the same space is enough. And… And Riz doesn’t know how to explain it, doesn’t know exactly why that makes him feel so warm, but it’s a good feeling. Like he doesn’t have to offer up anything to compensate for his presence. Like Gorgug is simply happy to have him here.

It’s nice.

Riz hunches up a little tighter, watching his doodle on the glass fade in the AC’s warm current. The roof of the van begins to rattle softly as raindrops bounce off of it, droplets pitter-pattering down across the windscreen, the glass becoming streaked in water that shines like tiny shooting stars in the light of passing streetlamps.The van moves on through Elmville, which seems more like a vaguely familiar collection of dark silhouettes from Riz’s view out the window, and towards Strongtower. A clear destination, with a clear directed path towards it. Like red string amongst a tidal wave of photographs and newspaper clippings. Like a friend in a lonely, lonely ocean.

It rains. It rains, and Riz thinks about Gorgug, and about how extremely lucky he is to get to have him as his friend. It rains, and it’s dark, and he can’t quite make out the buildings in his hometown, but if Riz knows anything to be true it is that Gorgug, above anything else, is _good._

Riz likes to think he is a good person, that he does good things for good reasons, but the truth is that he’s not quite sure _why_ he does the things he does. He knows Good and Bad, knows that saving a life is Right and that taking one is Wrong, but he can never pinpoint exactly what it is that makes them so. Why it’s good to do Good and bad to do Bad. He just knows, but the lack of reasoning makes him nervous.

But with Gorgug, the proof of it is in every action and word he carries out. He seems almost molded with kindness, like soft rich clay from a riverbed, _made_ to be thoughtful and considerate and selfless, because Riz cannot think for the life of him of any other way someone could be so instinctively _nice._ Gorgug’s understanding, his patience and charity and strength, is something so wondrous to behold, to _witness_ , that it takes Riz a moment to process it every time. How can someone be so irrevocably compassionate? How can they be so sincere and genuine in their words and actions, wholly unselfish?

Riz has built his identity around being suspicious, around doubt and second thoughts and digging for the truth behind the truth. He doesn’t always have great insight, especially not when it comes to people, but there is no doubt in his mind that Gorgug really is just simply, genuinely kind.

He knows this like he knows magic is real and that he needs air to breathe, and there is a great comfort in having something that is unconditionally true. Like an anchor, or a baseline, for Riz to hang onto when everything else gets confusing and complicated and overwhelming. Gorgug will always be there with a kind word, a shoulder to cry on, some advice or action that you can trust to be sincere and come from a place of good intention. Gorgug —

— kissed Ragh at prom. Riz remembers this suddenly, and isn’t sure why. Of all the kind things Gorgug has done, this is the strangest. He kissed Ragh at prom. That’s strange. That’s weird. Not the action itself, but that it happened. That that’s a thing that happened. Gorgug kissed their not-quite-friend-at-the-time at prom, because it was the best way he knew to make him happy. Riz turns this memory around in his head, examines the facts — to the best of Riz’s knowledge they didn’t have to talk about it after, or make anything of it. If they did, they would be dating right now, right? That’s how it works. Maybe? It didn’t mean anything more than a platonic sort of sign of support, and it didn’t make things awkward or uncomfortable between them. They can’t be hiding anything, because they’re both very obvious people and Riz would have found out by now.

And Riz really doesn’t understand the intricacies of the social ritual that is going on there, but he does now possess a vital slip of truth: there can be a kiss, between friends (just friends, just friends, because anything else _would_ be weird, right?) that doesn’t make things _different_ and _bad._

He stores this in his mind to be analysed more in depth later. Thinking about kisses with Gorgug two feet to his left (not kisses _with_ Gorgug, or kisses involving Gorgug, Gorgug and he, Riz, kissing Gorgug, or being kissed by Gorgug, not that, no, of course not, just kissing as an isolated hypothetical action with the physical presence of his friend, Gorgug, who is in no way involved in this fantasy, nearby) is making something flutter in his gut.

And Gorgug is a friend, because of course he is. He’s always trusted Riz, supported him, believed in him in a way that not a lot of people have. And Riz knows what he is, knows he’s a tiny neurotic screwball, and he doesn’t always suss when he’s being weird but he knows that back before the Bad Kids, he was a freak and a loser, and… Maybe he still is. Maybe one day all their friends will realise that he’s pathetic and paranoid and obsessive and they’ll leave, but something about Gorgug quells that fear in Riz. Something about Gorgug makes him feel calm and safe and secure, and anyone who can make Riz Gukgak feel calm is someone worth keeping around. He kinda wants to have Gorgug around forever.

There’s something very startling about that realisation, something that makes his chest a little tight and skin a little warm, and Riz isn’t sure what to do with that. He waits it out a minute, tugging at his hangnails, before risking a glimpse to his left.

(Ayda had recommended him, a week or so ago, a guide she’d been reading on identifying emotions. It had defined them and categorised them in a way that was easier to understand, for people like them who weren’t born with the rulebook on human interaction built in, and had proved itself extremely useful on several occasions. Riz hasn’t finished working through it, and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to have an easy time knowing exactly what he or anyone else is feeling, but as he stares up at Gorgug he’s pretty damn sure that this one is called _awe.)_

His friend’s face is cast in indigo blue, flashing amber whenever they pass a streetlight, and Riz’s eyes catch onto the way those flashes frame the outline of his cheekbones, his jaw, his nose — And, he thinks a little hysterically, Gorgug’s the same as he always is. Constant, steady, unwavering. There is nothing new to remark on. No haircut, no new hoodie, no new piercing — it’s just _Gorgug,_ with his dark hair tickling his shoulders, his face resting easy in a soft expression, his hands that would swamp Riz’s draped over the wheel. It’s just Gorgug —and the ‘just’ feels wrong, because Gorgug is so _Gorgug_ that he can never be _just_ — and yet Riz can’t push down the lump in his throat, can’t look away, his fingers curling around themselves and his heart pattering like the rain on the glass.

He wants to capture this image with his brain, wants it imprinted behind his eyelids, wants to see it when his lungs betray him after a restless night and he can’t breathe past his frustration. He wants to carry the feeling of the soft cotton of Gorgug’s hoodie between his fingers forever, wants the smell of laundry detergent and lavender to stick to him, wants to have this overwhelming feeling of wholeness that Gorgug’s company gives him to become a part of him. He wants —

There’s a pressure on his shoulder, and he blinks, and Gorgug is looking at him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand enveloping Riz’s entire shoulder. His eyes are on him, creased in quiet concern, big and gentle and _soft_ and Riz feels his heart trip and stumble over itself.

“Uh,” he answers eloquently, and his voice sounds rushed, slightly choked, and Riz is sure his face is red. If it is, Gorgug doesn’t say anything about it. “Yeah, I’m good. Just tired, y’know?”

He rests his side back against the window, and Gorgug’s hand leaves his shoulder both searing with the memory of contact and feeling strangely empty. The ghost of it lingers there, and the build-up in his chest doesn’t quite quell, doesn’t sink back down into the hidden spaces between his ribs. So instead, he hugs his knees, and watches the rain fall.

The van bumps along the road, taking a turn around this street and then that one, moving on, steadily, towards home.

The heat subsides slowly from his face, and Riz… doesn’t know what he’s expecting from this. Doesn’t even know what he wants. All he knows is that Gorgug is kind, and gentle, and big and strong enough to dunk him through a hoop with, like, _no_ effort. He has nice hair and a nice voice and a nice face, and being near him makes his heart swell, and making him laugh feels like the most important thing in the world, and he can’t keep his face from splitting with joy whenever he walks out of Strongtower to meet Gorgug in the car park in the mornings. Riz maybe kind of wants to look at him forever.

Gorgug has heard him wail, and heard him shriek, and seen him sad and angry and scared. Gorgug has seen him be ugly, eat messily and say the wrong things and be dunked into the trash. Be drunk and high and laugh and cry. He has seen Riz kill a man with several bullets to the chest, seen him shoot off a boy’s fingers with his gun, seen him devour a dragon’s face and grin and wipe the blood from his mouth. And Gorgug has stayed, and smiled kindly upon him, and offered him a shoulder to lie his head on at the end of a long day, regardless. Gorgug hasn’t ever looked at him like he was a freak.

Riz doesn’t know if he can even begin to try and think about what any of that means without having a pillow on hand to bury his face and scream in.

“Are you cold?”

Gorgug is already looking at him when Riz turns around to face him. The van bumps up a little as it hits a small pothole. Riz rubs his arm, shifts a little.

“Yeah, a little. I mean, the AC’s already on, so. The van should get warmer soon.”

Gorgug looks back to the road, face furrowed in a small frown.

“Okay, but you shouldn’t be cold in the meantime. Uh, hang on,“ he takes one hand off the wheel to dig into the side compartment, pulling out a sweater after a few seconds and passing it to him. “Here.”

Riz’s arms are suddenly full of soft knitted yarn that tickles his face, “Oh, um, thanks, but I’m really not —“

“Trust me, that thing’s super comfy. My parents made it for an outside concert a while back, and they get this really good quality wool from this guy in, uh, I think Fallinel, maybe?” He pauses, chewing on the inside of his lip. Not that Riz notices, because that’s a weird thing to focus on, and he’s _not_ looking at his friend’s mouth. “I don’t actually know where.”

“Your parents knit a sweater for a concert?” Riz asks, looking down at the sweater and going through a brief internal conflict before he wrestles it on. Gorgug does that little laugh he does, where it’s closer to an exhale of breath than a laugh. When he feels self-conscious, or awkward, which seems to be a lot of the time. It’s a nice sound.

“Yeah, it was like, mid-December, I think? And it was super cold, and they were worried I was gonna…” His voice drifts off for a moment when he turns to look at Riz, currently drowning in a sea of wool because this sweater was knit for a half-orc, and it’s more of a blanket for a small goblin like him. He blinks before hastily turning back to the road, and if it weren’t for the lack of lighting Riz would even say that his cheeks color a little.

“But, um,” Gorgug clears his throat,“Yeah, they learnt how to knit when I was little, cause, you know, a lot of clothes don’t really… I’m pretty tall, and it’s kinda tricky to find good-quality clothes that fit? So they just learnt how to make them for me instead.”

Riz looks down at the sweater swamping his body, and he can see the evidence of love’s labor — he really doesn’t know anything about knitting, but it’s a pretty big sweater, big enough for Gorgug, and he can’t imagine the amount of time and effort that must’ve gone into making it.

“Dude, I don’t think I tell you this enough, but your parents are insanely cool.”

Gorgug chuckles, his eyes still on the road.

“Yeah, they’re — they’re pretty great.” He’s faced away, but Riz smiles at him regardless. It feels important to smile at Gorgug.

The moment subsides, and in the lull of the conversation the sound of the rain on the roof of the Hangvan amplifies. The van trucks along, round a winding bend, windscreen wipers swiping desperately at the water cascading down the front window. Riz thinks about Gorgug, and about the sweater, and the concert —

“Oh!” He sits up a little straighter, something clear cutting through the tangled web in his head, “Uh, talking of concerts, before I forget, I just remembered —” His hand flicks through the air nervously. “I, I got tickets for one in Bastion in a couple months — um, The Baalzebubs?” At the mention of the name, Gorgug turns his head slightly again to look at him. Riz’s heart does a little jump. He pushes it back down. “I was wondering if, uh, if you’d be interested... in that.”

“I didn’t know you were into — you listen to The Baalzebubs?” Gorgug asks, brow furrowed, looking slightly confused.

“I mean — no,” Riz shrugs, “Not really, heavy metal isn’t super my thing, you know that — I’m more of a new wave, um —” He gestures vaguely with his hand.

“Electro, synth-pop,” Gorgug supplies, nodding.

“Yeah, and I was kinda, um, kinda deep-diving into metal bands last night, ‘cause you like metal, and I saw they were touring and they were gonna be in Bastion, and I know you like them...” Riz suddenly feels very aware of Gorgug’s eyes on him, and also very aware of the fact that staying up very late scouring Wiki pages on the typical harmonic structures in heavy metal and then buying somewhat expensive tickets for a band his friend has mentioned a total of one time is maybe actually just a _little_ weird and obsessive. He rubs the back of his hand, claws scratching at his skin.

“You… researched and bought tickets for music you don’t like, for me?” There’s something in Gorgug’s voice that sounds almost disbelieving, as if the notion of someone putting in the work to learn more about his interests is far-fetched.

“I — yeah, I mean, metal’s something you really like, so,” Riz shrugs, again, “You know. I felt it was important to try and learn more about it, and investigation’s kinda my thing, anyways.”

“Huh,” Gorgug says under his breath, “That’s... that’s really nice of you.”

Riz laughs nervously, a note too high.

“Um, I, I guess? Thanks.”

A beat passes.

“I’d like that. The concert, I mean. With you. That’d be fun.” Gorgug speaks up, and although he keeps his head faced forwards he doesn’t look like he’s actually watching the road at all. “I don’t know, uh, I don’t know if we tell you this enough but, um, you’re… you’re really cool.” His face seems to redden, his fingers rubbing the edge of his hoodie.

And Riz can’t help himself when he barks out a laugh at that, because Gorgug Thistlespring thinks he’s _cool._ Gorgug, who’s tall and strong and on the Owlbears and figured out satellite technology and who’s saved the world twice over and can smash down anything with his axe. And he thinks _Riz Gukgak_ is cool.

“No, really,” Gorgug insists, “Like, you put so much work into making sure everyone’s happy and safe and stuff, and you’re, like, _crazy_ smart. Like, you get all this information and somehow you just... know what to do with it? And you know so much stuff about other stuff that I’ve just, like, _never_ heard of before. And I just think, um, I just think you’re really cool, and I think I’ve said that word too many times but I — I mean it. I’m just super glad I get to be your friend, and I wanted to make sure you knew that.” He pauses for a second before adding on, “You also shoot real good.”

Riz can feel the heat rising up in his face again, singing his cheeks and teasing a feathery, fiery little butterfly kiss to the tips of his ears. He feels like he’s burning alive, and all he wants is to throw more kindling into the fire. Isn’t that weird?

“Oh,” he chokes out, because _oh,_ “I’m, dude, _sweets,_ yeah. Thanks. Thank you. Me — me too. I think you’re really cool, too.” He takes a second. “You’re right, that does sound weird. We need a new word. How about: I think you’re rad, Gorgug.”

The half-orc laughs at that, and Riz has to actively keep his focus on what he's saying so he doesn't lose track.

“But, um, yeah,” he continues, “You also punch real good. And axe real good — is, is that a verb, axe? Doesn’t matter — I, uh, thanks, again, for saying I’m cool. That’s really nice of you.”

“I mean, you _are?"_ And there’s that note, that Riz finds in Gorgug’s voice whenever he speaks — sincerity, genuine honesty. Truth. Riz likes truth. And he likes sincerity, and honesty, and he thinks he likes...

“I — I don’t know, about that, I mean…” He takes a pause, mulling his words, trying to pick out the right ones from the hoard of thoughts currently swarming his mind. “I’m pretty social, but I don’t have… that many friends, and I didn’t have _any_ before, uh, you know, before the Bad Kids. And, I don’t know, I’m not really good at reading people, but sometimes I think they’re only nice to me because they think it’s funny to… pretend to like me. Like, you know, I have my briefcase and my business cards, but I’m starting to think that people find that weird, because —“

He can’t help a laugh escaping, like air from a dying balloon. “I also, literally just last night, super obsessed over heavy metal wiki articles, and then straight up bought tickets for something you’ve mentioned only, like, _once._ So..."

Riz drifts off, catching his breath. Gorgug waits for him, like he always does.

“So I’m not… I wouldn’t say, you know, if you’re going by it’s dictionary definition, say that I’m _cool,_ per se. Or rad. I’m just… weird.” He’s not lying. (He doesn’t think he could ever lie to Gorgug.) He knows this is an objective fact: Riz Gukgak is not cool. Riz Gukgak is weird. But somehow, despite the truth, he still can’t bring himself to make eye contact with his friend.

The friend in question watches him, turning back to the road in increments to make sure they don’t crash. He only starts to speak after a few seconds of consideration.

“I mean... I’m weird too,” Gorgug says. “I didn't have friends before, either. I sang a song while I got beat up and I’m twice as tall as my parents, who are gnomes. A lot of things go over my head and you have to explain the same things thrice over to me before I get them… so, you know… I say we’re both weird.” Gorgug offers him a smile, and it maybe sorta lights up the whole night. “Weird solidarity, right?”

“Yeah,” Riz nods, and he lets his own smile creep up his face, “We’re the weird squad.”

“The green team.”

“The loser crew.”

“The misfit, uh… misfit posse.”

“The duo of unusual size.” Gorgug snorts at that one, and Riz grins at him. “The abnormal eyes alliance. The freaky teeth troupe.”

“You’re way better at this than I am,” Gorgug laughs; soft, happy, warm. Awkward, slightly, an edge of roughness to his voice because he’s a teenage half-orc, and his lips curl when he laughs, expose his teeth, make his tusks jut out just a little more. _Not_ that Riz notices, because _again,_ that’s a weird thing to focus on. But he’s beaming, and they’re still a couple minutes away from Strongtower but Riz thinks he might be home already.

For the rest of the ride, they talk, and Riz is tired and sleepy but he finds that he doesn’t mind this at all. Talking to Gorgug isn’t draining. It’s never draining.

“Gorgug?” he cuts in, at some point amidst their chatter.

“Mh?”

“You’re way smarter than you give yourself credit for.” Riz rolls his words over his tongue, considers them carefully, like he’s knitting a sweater for a concert and he has to get every thread of yarn right. “And, you know… I don’t mind explaining the same things thrice over to you. I’d explain them a million billion trillion times if you needed.” He tries to push the utmost sincerity into his voice, because this is important, and Gorgug needs to understand this — and whilst Gorgug only mumbles in response, he does seem to go a couple shades darker in the dim lighting of the van, so Riz counts it a success.

And for the rest of the ride home, Riz thinks about love, and about Gorgug, and he thinks Gorgug could do anything — could tell Riz he’s given up music and raging and barbarian classes to work as Aguefort’s lunch lady instead, and Riz would still think the world of him. It wells up in his chest, something bigger than him, bigger than Spyre, bigger than anything he’s ever known, and it feels like home. _It feels like home._

And then Gorgug pulls into the Strongtower car park, and it all feels too soon.

The Hangvan slows to a halt, and for a long second neither of them speak. The roof of the van is still rattling with rain, and the wind hisses menacingly outside, and Riz finds himself curling a little tighter into the sweater-blanket.

“So, are you going to your apartment, or your office, or...?” Gorgug asks, interrupting the silence.

“Uh… office, I wanna tie up some stuff on the, you know, _redacted."_ Riz makes air quotes on the last word. He instantly tucks his fingers back into the folds of wool, feeling for the slightest inch of warmth.

“The Night…?”

“Yup.”

Gorgug nods, “Cool, right, okay.” A second passes. “I thought we cleared that up, you’re still working on it?”

“I mean, yeah, but I, uh,” Riz’s gaze turns to the window, into the deep dark of the night, picking absentmindedly at his hangnails. “I just don’t wanna miss anything, you know?”

“Sure, but… Take it easy, Riz.” Gorgug puts his hand on his shoulder again, and Riz wonders what the criteria is for getting Gorgug to do that, because if he can try and fulfill that quota as often as possible that would be quite nice. “Get some sleep for once.”

Riz smiles and nods. His fingers leave the sweater and curl instead around the door handle.

“I will. Promise.”

He pushes the door open, and slips outside.

The cold snaps against him suddenly, sharp, vicious, and unforgiving, and as he looks out towards Strongtower he can tell that there’s going to be a strip between the van and the complex where he’s going to have to be exposed to the wind and rain for an extended length of time, and he’s kinda super not looking forward to it. There’s the fact that he’s going to be absolutely drenched by the time he gets to his office, and also the fact that Riz isn’t the heaviest person in Spyre and there is a legitimate chance that the wind is going to pick him up and drop him in Fallinel or something.

Not to mention that harsh wintry weather tends to take a toll on his lungs, and he maybe sorta forgot his inhaler at home, and it’s not like this is going to be life-threatening but it is going to be _unpleasant._

“Uh, quick question —“ he starts as he swivels back around.

“You’re not getting my hoodie,” Gorgug cuts him off.

“What? Come on, can’t I just have the hood? You don’t need a hood.”

“What? No!” Gorgug shakes his head vehemently. “Nope! You already have a hat, how would a hood be any better?”

“Just the hood, Gorgug, c’mon!” Riz pleads, “We both know you have at least ten more of the exact same hoodie.”

“Well, I can’t really call it a hoodie if it doesn’t have a hood,” Gorgug argues. “It’d just be a… ie.”

“That’s true,” Riz admits, and sighs. “Okay, fine, but if I freeze to death out there it’s your fault.”

“Sure, Riz,” Gorgug rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Do you want me to walk you to your office so you don’t get blown away?”

“I’m not _that_ small,” Riz protests, even though he knows that Gorgug isn’t wrong, and he flashes a smile. “But also, yeah, if you’re not gonna spare me your hood that _is_ the least you could do.”

And sure enough, Gorgug clambers out of the van, bumping his head against the roof on his way out. The wind picks up a little, and Riz wraps his arms around himself to try and keep himself from shivering. It doesn’t work.

“You don’t actually have to come with me,” he says, watching Gorgug flip his hood up and grimace as the foul weather begins beats down on him. The words feel like a chore, and a selfish part of Riz wants to not have said them, to not have given Gorgug an out, to not have given him the option to leave right now —

“Yeah, but I want to,” Gorgug shrugs. Like it’s that easy. Riz wonders if it maybe is.

They walk together through the car park, Gorgug providing his arm as an umbrella for Riz, which isn’t effective at all because the rain soaks into his hoodie and then drips directly onto Riz’s head in much more concentrated amounts than just plain rain would. They end up tracking ridiculously large puddles when they get inside the building, across the sparse lobby and up the stairs.

Riz never really felt self-conscious of where he lived, before freshman year, because it wasn’t like he ever had anyone to feel self-conscious for. Solving mysteries was always much more important anyways, and as long as he had space for his clues and his red string and his conspiracy board, what did it matter that the heating didn’t work, that there was barely any insulation, that there were cockroaches in the cupboards? It didn’t, and Riz never needed to think about it.

Then he met the Bad Kids, and he had friends, and people that he had to impress, people who had to like him and not think he was weird and suddenly, the dilapidated state of his home _mattered._ Which felt odd, the first time they came over and he led them into the lobby and didn’t see the lobby he’d been living above for fourteen years, but an unclean, ill-kept, deteriorating room. The feeling’s improved over the two and a bit years they’ve known each other, but Riz still feels strange inviting people over. Especially when most of his friends live in mansions.

Gorgug, again, triggers this insecurity the least. There’s a complete lack of judgement on his part, and his presence offers some sort of quiet comfort Riz can’t even begin to define.

“Hey, don’t live in a mansion squad?” he suggests as they walk down the hallway towards his office, bumping against Gorgug’s side.

“Yup,” the half-orc chuckles, bumping back, ”You think we should ask to move into Mordred? We could bring Fabian along with us and have the whole gang under one roof.”

Riz hums while he thinks about it.

“Mmh... I mean, it’d be rad as hell, but… I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I kinda like hitching a ride in the Hangvan every morning.”

“Well, it’s not like I couldn’t bring the Hangvan with me to Mordred,” Gorgug reasons, “Then I could drive us all to Aguefort.”

“Yeah, but it’s different, y’know? I kinda like… ” Riz’s voice drifts off, realising where that sentence is going. Gorgug looks at him curiously, waiting for him to finish, and he has no right to look this good in these shitty hallway lights. Riz looks away. His mouth feels dry.

_I kinda like it when it's just you and me._

“I dunno,” he swallows. “Living at Mordred would rule.” And it would. It absolutely would, it’s just that… maybe Riz likes being a duo. Likes having the excuse of living in close proximity to hang out, just them. Because he loves all his friends so very much, but being alone with Gorgug is just _different_ and maybe Riz wants to hold onto that feeling forever.

Gorgug blinks at him like he doesn’t quite believe him, but doesn’t say anything. They walk the rest of the way in silence, and soon enough find themselves standing in front of the door to Riz’s office.

“Well, um, thanks for the ride,” Riz says, quietly, and pushes his mouth up into a smile.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. Anytime. I mean, every morning, ‘cause… that’s what we do already, um, so… I didn't have to specify anytime, but, you know. Whatever.” Gorgug rolls his shoulders uncomfortably. Riz looks up and pushes his smile up a little more, and nudges his arm. Gorgug returns the gesture, considerately gentle.

Riz can’t bring himself to speak, to tell Gorgug anything that doesn’t make his chest tighter than he can breathe through, and even if he did there’s no likelihood that he could phrase it in a meaningful way. That Gorgug would even know what the words meant.

So instead, he ducks his head and turns away. His movements feel strange and stiff — take keys out, find right key, slot key in, turn key. His fingers hover above the door handle.

“Um,” Gorgug suddenly speaks up, and then immediately goes quiet like he doesn’t quite know how to finish.

Riz lowers his hand and glances up at him. The light buzzes and flickers above them. It feels like the air is humming.

“Yeah?” he prompts, and the word is choked out of his chest, his ribs crushing his lungs. Like he’s holding his breath with a baseball bat.

Something indecipherable but pained flits past Gorgug’s face as he looks down at Riz, some internal debate, before he looks away, hands stuffed inside his hoodie’s pouch.

“Goodnight,” he finishes, stilted. Out of place.

Riz deflates, almost dizzy from the sudden flow of air to his brain, and nods numbly.

“Yeah, um, you know. You too.” He turns around, opens the door, and steps inside.

He turns again slightly to shut the door, and just before he does, Gorgug does that awkward little half-wave he does, where his fingers just sort of poke out his hoodie sleeve and wiggle a bit. Riz mirrors the hand-wiggle and smiles at him, and tries to put everything in that smile, like maybe he can skip out on the words that don’t come to him and just communicate everything through his face instead.

There's a desperate part of him, stored in the space behind his ribs where his heart is kept, that creeps up his throat, lies behind his tongue. It makes itself known in the way Riz's fingers tap against his leg, the way he rocks on his feet, the way he wants nothing more than to move towards Gorgug, as if by a force beyond his control. 

With something unsaid left gravitating between them, Riz shuts the door.

It’s not much later, as he’s crawling to the couch to pass out and keep his promise, that he realises he’s still wearing Gorgug’s sweater.

* * *

The next morning, when the air is crisp and a breeze brushes over the Thistlespring tree, Gorgug wakes up forgetting a dream. His mouth feels dry, and his throat tight.

The feeling lingers through breakfast, and he waves his parents goodbye and they wish him a good day as he walks out the tree. He makes his way down to where the Hangvan is parked out on the street, so he can go pick up Riz and drive them both to Aguefort, and pauses at the passenger’s side door because there’s something on the fogged up window. He can't quite make it out, so he leans in to take a closer look, and something small and giddy hops in his chest.

There is a small, wobbly, goblin-shaped heart ghosting the glass, the letters ‘R+G’ traced inside, and Gorgug feels dumb sometimes, but not _that_ dumb.

So he gets into the van, turns the key in the ignition, and thinks. Thinks about the soft buzz of the AC, and sweaters that are too big, and rain. And he thinks about Riz, and about sharp eyes and sharp teeth and a sharp mind. About small hands a fraction the size of his, and all the small things that they share.

And Gorgug thinks about love, and something tells him that today might turn out more than alright.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> title comes from "All The Small Things" by blink-182  
> find me on tumblr @22hildaboulevard  
> comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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